


Pressure

by Iocane



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android introspection, Asexual Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Asexual Relationship, Canon Typical Violence, Guilt, Hank has ED, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Panic Attacks, hank anderson is not actually bad at feelings, i guess, self destructive behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 01:44:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16924179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iocane/pseuds/Iocane
Summary: It starts with a hug.Connor struggles with guilt about his past as a deviant hunter, and his confused feelings for Hank, including a desire to very much repeat the hug outside the Chicken Feed, and having no clue how to go about it.





	Pressure

That first hug sparked something deep inside Connor, and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

A large hand to the back of his neck and suddenly he was enveloped.  Connor was mindful of his own strength when he hugged back, applying only a little pressure.  Hank was not so careful, nor did he need to be. He squeezed, both arms compressing Connor's chest and back, holding him tight.  Connor let his face press against Hank's shoulder and felt smothered. He was surrounded by Hank and when the embrace ended it was all he could do not to press himself against the human for another few moments.

"You, uh, got anywhere you gotta be?" Hank asked, looking a bit awkward after his emotional display.

"No.  I believe I would be welcome at Jericho, at least by some, but I already feel like a boogeyman.  My prior occupation is a raw wound for many."

"I guess I can understand that.  You can stay with me till you find something better." Hank tipped his head towards the car.  "Come on."

The ride was quiet, and they were alone on the road, most of the rest of the city probably in a state of shock, those who hadn't fled in the evacuation.  It would fade, the city and the world would wake up and everything would be loud again, and everything would be very very different. But for now it was silent and still, almost eerie.

Sumo was excited to see them back, and almost knocked Connor over in his eagerness.  "I'm here, boy," he assured the massive dog as Hank hung up his coat and kicked off his shoes.

"Dog likes you more than he loves me I think." Hank's voice was fond but there was a rasp to it.

"I think it's the novelty, I'm still brand new."  Connor stood, scanning the lieutenant and realizing just how long it had been since he'd probably slept. "If you need to sleep, Lieutenant-"

"Yeah.  Now I know why everyone in Les Mis is a fuckin' kid.  Revolutions are a young man's game." He stretched, then stopped abruptly and regarded Connor.  "Do you even need sleep?"

"Not the way humans do.  I periodically enter a low power mode to run diagnostics, particularly ones that require shutdown of certain systems, but that doesn't take more than a few hours every couple of days, under optimum conditions."

"Optimum conditions.  We haven't had any of that, have we? Fuck." Anything else we cut off by a shattering yawn and Connor was certain he heard crackling as the lieutenants jaw was stretched.  "Yeah. Shower, then bed. Glad I got fucking suspended, don't think I'd wanna be out there today."

"I'm sorry helping me interfered with your job." For lack of anything better, and because he found it soothing, Connor was on one knee, stroking Sumo as the dog leaned against him.  

"Eh.  Good cause, and I've been suspended for less noble reasons." Another jaw cracking yawn and Hank took himself off to the shower.  Making his way from the shower to the bedroom, Hank called out "Make yourself at home!"

Shortly after, Connor could hear faint snoring from the bedroom.  As he sat and continued to pet Sumo, he realized he'd never had nothing at all to do.  In the last few days, he hadn't really had time, between working the deviancy cases and trying to find Jericho, and then the revolution itself.

Before that, he'd simply gone into stasis between missions.

Sumo eventually had enough pettings and went to lie down, leaving Connor standing in the living room.  His coin only kept him occupied for a few minutes, and with the wireless network down, he was limited to keeping himself busy inside the house.

A mission list was not required, but he found a comfort in it.  It had always been there, all his life, either his overarching mission statement to stop deviants, or more specific chores and tasks.  He knew he could simply **do** things, and would remember easily what needed to be done.  

New tasks were added as others were completed.  Dishes, washed, dried, put away. Trash, gathered and disposed of.  Putting things away that had obvious locations. Dust was wiped from all the surfaces.  Every room but the bedroom was swept. A mop was located and utilized on the kitchen and bathroom floors.  The hardwood in the living room and hallway were only swept, since he couldn't determine how well the material would react to mopping; housekeeping was not part of his programming.  Sumo's bowls were cleaned and replenished, and then there was nothing left.

Connor stood in the living room as his last tasks were marked completed and blinked away.  He considered organizing but suspected Hank would find interfering with his things to be invasive and he valued the lieutenant's friendship too much to deliberately upset him.  

Simply standing around to wait for Lieutenant Anderson … _felt_ like the wrong choice.  In the end, he sat on the couch, relaxing against the cushions.  Experimentally, he eased off his shoes and stretched out. He didn't have the same human need for comfort, but he still shifted, attempting to find a position that seemed right.  Ultimately he lay on his back, head propped on a pillow against one arm, with no excessive pressure anywhere on his components.

Once he was still for ten minutes, Connor found himself with company.  Sumo, who had been resting quietly during Connor's activities, now came over and nudged his arm.  Petting his head, Connor smiled at the dog, a soft 'good boy' slipping from his lips. The praise was greeted with a soft woof and before Connor could think to stop him, Sumo had hopped onto the couch.

More specifically, he hopped onto Connor, the heavy dog sitting on his legs, then laying down, head resting on Connor's chest.  

Connor found the pressure to be surprisingly pleasant, and was reminded of Hank's crushing embrace only a few hours ago.  He wrapped his arms around Sumo and squeezed very gently. The dog's only response was to adjust his upper body, front paws crossed, head resting on them.  The position would have been extremely awkward for a human, forcing Connor's head back slightly to make room for the large paw. Connor didn't mind in the least.

Hank was likely to sleep for some time yet, given his age, health, and exertion over the last few days.  With nothing left to do, Connor decided it was finally a decent time to enter diagnostic mode, his first since going deviant.  He set himself a few alarms - to wake if the wireless network returned, and if anyone came to the door or tried to enter the house, and to wake him in approximately three hours to check on the state of the lieutenant.

With his hands resting on Sumo's sides, buried in the soft, warm fur, Connor finally 'fell asleep.'

+++++

"SUMO! DOWN!" Hank's sudden bark startled dog and android alike awake.  Obedient as ever, Sumo wagged his tail and woofed at his human master but made no move to get down.  Connor's LED spun from red, to yellow, then blue, then his eyes opened.

"He's fine," Connor said as he pushed up, not dislodging the dog but wanting to see over the back of the couch.  "How are you feeling?" Hank looked better. Not entirely well rested but less exhausted, and it was now mid-afternoon by Connor's clock.  Wi-fi was still down.

"He's not supposed to be on the furniture," Hank braced one arm on the back of the couch and gave Sumo a gentle but firm push with the other.

"Technically he's not on the couch." Connor's words were met with a hairy eyeball from Hank and the android joined his efforts to ease the dog off.

"And now you're covered in dog hair," Hank pointed out.

Connor stood, brushing at his suit.  "How does one dog produce so much hair? I found a great deal of it last night while I was cleaning."

"You cleaned? You didn't have to do that." Hank was turning, noticing all the small changes - less dusty, everything tidied up.  "Thanks."

"I had nothing else to do.  I'm unaccustomed to free time." Connor finally got all the dog hair off his clothing and straightened his jacket.  "And the wireless network was and is down, so I couldn't pass the time with research."

"Fuck, still?" Hank scrubbed a hand over his face.  

"I believe it was disabled by Agent Perkins in an attempt to disrupt android communication."

"That cocksucker." Hank glanced out the window.  "I'm gonna get dressed, you wanna put the TV on, see if we can get any information?"

"I wanted to thank you, Lieutenant, for your help with Agent Perkins, by the way, I apologize for your suspension as a result of it."

"Ahch," Hank waved his hand, turning away quickly.  "It's fine. I think I broke the fuckers nose, and aside from that, it worked out alright for you guys."

Connor wanted to say more, but he could tell Hank was uncomfortable and went to turn on the TV, quickly finding a channel with news.

Hank returned, wearing shorts and an oversized grey sweatshirt, joining Connor on the couch as the newscast began.

Interspaced with updates on the androids' legal status, was footage of the actual revolution, including Connor's arrival with reinforcements.

As the footage and announcements of no real change played across the screen, Hank kept glancing over at Connor before finally speaking. "What happened to your tie?"

"I took it off." He reached to where the knot usually rested, recalling the moment.  "After I left the tower with the other androids, it suddenly felt constricting. And … inappropriate." He tried to choose his words carefully, not used to _feeling_ emotions, let alone _expressing_ them.  "It didn't feel right showing up looking … excessively neat."

It started with a snort that he tried to disguise as a cough, but Hank was soon chuckling, then laughing.  "Oh my - fuck, Connor," he said, trying and largely failing to regain his composure. "So, you're telling me that with all that going on - in the middle of a fucking android uprising - you took your tie off for the **aesthetic**?!"

When it was expressed like that, Connor began to see the humor of it.  At the time, he'd merely been … reacting. Doing what felt right, following his newfound emotions.  "I suppose, yes," he said as an odd feeling began to grow in his chest and he let out a laugh. It was awkward and false-sounding to his own ears, but it felt good.  He also finally understood why humans believed laughter to be contagious.

"Fuck, Connor, that's probably the single most human thing you've done yet." Hank was relaxed against the couch, hand on his stomach, laughter having finally died down to occasional chuckles.

Connor pondered that, a little surprised.  "Even more than refusing to shoot Kamski's Chloe, or the Tracis?" He hoped the Lieutenant didn't mind him asking, even when he professed dislike, he had always seemed inclined to help Connor figure things out.  Particularly when it came to less logical decisions.

"Come on, Connor, you know how fucking bloody minded humans can be.  I guarantee you Reed would have shot all three of those girls and not even blinked."  Hank began flipping through stations, apparently trying to find a channel with different news.

" _You_ wouldn't have, though.  It was your urging that allowed me to … justify the actions, at least to myself.  I don't believe Amanda quite bought it." Connor felt something twist at the memories her name brought up. He clenched his hand, remembering the gun he'd held when he woke up from the zen garden.

"Amanda? That who you reported to?" Hank finally turned the TV back to the original news channel and turned the volume down.

"She was my … handler.  An AI, based on Amanda Stern." Connor realized he was nervous, rubbing his hands up and down his thighs before he spoke again.  "When Markus was giving his speech, and I was on the platform with him and the others, CyberLife, through Amanda, attempted to regain control of me."

"Fucking-" Hank shook his head, cutting off any further response and letting Connor continue.

"Amanda claimed that my deviancy was planned from the start, an attempt to infiltrate, so they could retake control whenever they chose, and eliminate the uprising leadership from the inside.  Then I remembered what Kamski said. About backdoors in his programs."

"I remember that."

"It was difficult, as if I were physically fighting against myself, which in a way I was.  To anyone watching, it was over in a few heartbeats, but for me it felt a good deal longer.  Once I located the backdoor, and actually got to it, activating it was easy enough. I left the garden and came back to myself on the platform.  Since then, I haven't felt anything from CyberLife. I don't know if the back door closed off that option for good, or if they're regrouping for another try."

"There any way you can shut that down? I don't know how it works - in there - but obviously things can be changed or you guys couldn't go deviant." Hank rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke.

"I can check," Connor hadn't considered that, and felt silly for not having done so.  He retreated inside himself, closing his eyes and examining his code, trying to find the remnants of what had allowed them to take over.

"Connor!" Hank's voice sounded worried and Connor's eyes snapped open mid-search, seeing the human leaning over him.  The sight was a pleasant one. "What happened, you just- stopped."

"My apologies.  I was examining my base code.  I've never done that, I assume I seemed to shut down?"

"Yeah," Hank settled back onto the couch, sagging a bit.  "You said you were gonna check, then your eyes closed, your LED blinked red and then shut off.  I thought - thought maybe they'd gotten back in," his voice was surprisingly small when he said that.

Something inside Connor clenched a little when he heard that vulnerable tone.  "I apologize for upsetting you, LIeutenant," he said. "I didn't think what it would look like outside.  Perhaps it would be best if I examined myself elsewhere." He suggested, thinking perhaps to stand outside.

"Nah.  Now that I know what's going on." A meaty hand patted Connor's shoulder awkwardly as Hank stood up.  "I'm gonna go make something to eat, you … do your thing."

Connor nodded, eyes following Hank as he went into the kitchen.  Then he once again began to examine his code. If Kamski had been responsible for the back door, it followed that the vulnerability they'd exploited was part of the deepest segments of his code, written earlier than the rest of it.

Once he found the necessary files, he examined them line by line.  Finally the exploit was located, but he couldn't do anything to change it.  It could be overwritten, the entire segment replaced, but he couldn't simply tweak his code and close out the exploit.  

Since he couldn't _change_ the code, he considered other possibilities.  It was during a routine ping for a wireless signal that he got an idea.  He brought up his wireless settings and he was able to modify _that_ code, so if the exploit was accessed, it would notify him of an attempted signal.  It might not prevent them from _making_ an attempt, but it would be more difficult, and he would have some warning.

When his eyes opened again, he realized only a few minutes had passed, and the scent of bacon was already filling the house.  "What are you making?" He stood, feet sliding back into his shoes before he walked to the kitchen.

"Bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich, and I don't care how many fuckin' calories it has." Hank said firmly but there seemed to be no anger to it.  "Did you manage to fix the … thing?" He gestured at his head with the tongs before turning the bacon over.

"I was able to institute a temporary solution, but the code they exploited is in a segment that can only be overwritten, not edited."  Seeing Sumo's water dish was low, he bent to take care of it.

"Will you be able to overwrite it? I don't even know how my _phone_ works, let alone your brain, so let me know if I'm asking stupid questions."

"You're willing to explain human emotions, the least I can do is attempt to explain my coding."  Thinking for a moment, he had an idea of a solution. "There is one possibility. Well, two. CyberLife may have the original base code, but I don't think they'll be willing to simply hand it over, especially since the intent is to deny them remote access.  The other possibility is Markus."

"Markus?" Hank transferred the bacon to a paper towel and cracked an egg into the pan.  "What can he do?"

"His model is RK200, designed by Elijah Kamksi personally.  Customized, like myself, but the most basic parts - relatively speaking - are the oldest.  There is a high probability that Markus has a close enough copy to the segment I need to overwrite - without the exploit."

"But -?" Hank prompted when Connor didn't continue.

"But obtaining such could would likely be an intimate, possibly invasive procedure.  And he might not even have what I need, it's only speculation."

"Yeah, that's a pretty big 'but,'" Hank conceded as he began to assemble his sandwich.  He turned and leaned against the counter as he took a bite.

There was a faint almost flutter at the back of his mind and Connor's LED flicked to yellow for a second.  "The wi fi network has been restored." The only real updates were a continuation of earlier. Most of the androids in the city and surrounding areas were congregating in a few places, the majority around Markus.  The military and the FBI were gone, Agent Perkins having been taken off the case, since it was decided there no longer _was_ a case.

There was a message from Markus, asking if he was alright.  Connor was touched by the concern and sent a message assuring the android leader that he was fine, and staying with Lieutenant Anderson.  He considered bringing up the topic of the exploit in his code, but he believed Markus' trust in him to be fragile at best.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully.  Curfew was lifted, and between the lines of all the reports was a desire to return to some kind of normal as quickly as possible.  The question of what to do with now millions of disenfranchised androids still hung over them all like a Sword of Damocles.

Connor found comfort in simply sitting beside Hank, watching first the news, then an old movie.  Around midnight, Hank began to doze before taking himself off to bed.

Once again left to his own devices, and with nothing to clean, Connor decided to go for a walk.  Perhaps in the general direction of Jericho and Markus, but he had no particular goal in mind. That alone was still a heady thought.  He'd had some freedom of choice before becoming a deviant, more than most androids. But that had been within very specific parameters.  How to accomplish a specific task.

Now he could do whatever he wanted.  One thing he did without even a pinch of guilt was ~~hack into~~ access the DPD database and check Hank's suspension status.  Originally slated for two weeks and then a review, the departure of Perkins had accelerated that timeline and he would be back at work in a matter of days, with no review.  It would please Hank to return to his job. Connor hoped he would be allowed to accompany him.

No one else was around, though he could hear the hum of life as he drew closer to the city itself.  Closer to him, he hard the occasional dog barking, and a cat darted across the road in front of him. Otherwise it seemed the neighborhood was asleep.  Or empty.

Perhaps it was his persistent thoughts of Hank, but Connor wound up at the park.  Stepping onto the frost-stiff grass, he recalled every chilling second of their conversation; Hank's probing questions; his own evasive and surprisingly uncertain answers.  The gun to his head.

Hank used to come here with his son.  He hadn't said as much, but now it was obvious to Connor how much this place meant to him.  He climbed the bench, sitting on the back just as Hank had, looking over the water.

Was this where it had started? His supposedly inevitable path to deviancy? Connor pulled out his coin as he mulled it over.  It glittered in the moonlight, dancing between his fingers while his thoughts danced around the question. No, it hadn't started here, this was just the place where he was called on his destabilizing habits.

He went back to the very first decision he'd made that wasn't dictated by his mission.  The fish, a red and blue Dwarf Gourami. _Trichogaster lalius_. Freshwater species; lifespan of four years on average.

Fallen from a broken aquarium at the site of his very first mission.  There had been no reason to save it. Doing so or not doing so would have in no way impacted the outcome of the case, the life of one fish was doubtless inconsequential to Daniel, or even the child at that point in time.  Connor looked down at the palm of his empty hand, recaling with sharp clarity the weight of the fish on his hand, could feel the life in it.

That life, that insignificant fish, was the first Connor had saved, and he had done so outside the parameters of his mission.  His journey had begun there, the very first errors in his coding. And nearly every decision after had compounded the instability.  Saving Hank instead of pursuing the deviant. Letting the Traci's go. Failing Kamski's twisted 'test.'

No, that wasn't entirely correct.  After the mission at the Phillips' home, Connor had chased down - _hunted_ \- several dozen violently deviant androids.  None of them had prompted any degree of software instability.  He had felt no emotions at all, only following his missions, resulting in the destruction of many of his own kind.  It was only now, long after the fact that he felt guilt, deep and heavy.

Connor shivered, arms wrapping around himself and realized how cold he was.  The only other time he'd _felt_ the cold as opposed to merely being aware of the temperature was when he'd been trapped inside his own head.  Newly deviant, abandoned in the zen garden and trying to claw his way out, he'd felt so cold then and the memory of it just made him shiver harder.

Unbidden, the thought occurred to him that the **warmest** he'd ever felt was yesterday when Hank had pulled him close and held him crushingly tight.  For just a moment, Connor allowed himself to replay the memory, slowing it down so he could savor it.

The warmth had started before the touch, Connor realized.  Hank's smile, that subtle nod of approval and Connor had felt the tension drain away.  Then Hank's hand, large, callused and rough-skinned in a way no android's could ever be, pressed to the back of Connor's neck.  Heat and pressure followed, a flurry of low key alerts, dismissed between one heartbeat and the next. The tight embrace, strong arms pressing him against a softness that was uniquely human.

Connor was snapped back to reality when the memory ended and he realized that the CyberLife issued clothes he still wore did not, in any fashion, protect him against the frigid November air.

Though he had walked to the park, he found a cab to take him back to Hank's house.  Picking the front door lock took only moments and he made a note to both ask Hank for a key, and suggest a more robust security system.

The interior of the house wasn't especially warm, but it was much less cold than the outside.  Connor could warm himself but it would use up his thirum faster, and at this point, he was uncertain of when he would be getting more.  

Connor eyed the couch, recalling Sumo laying on him the last time he'd laid there.  It would be warmth, and the pressure on his chest had been welcome. He considered a shower, letting the hot water heat up his chilled body, but worried it would wake Hank.  Decision made, he gave Sumo a gentle nudge to wake him before lying on the couch. "Come here, boy," he whispered and the dog padded over to him. A pat to Connor's chest and Sumo hopped up, settling quickly onto Connor's torso, head resting on Connor's shoulder, drooling slightly against his neck.

Smiling to himself, Connor let the dog's body heat warm him for several minutes before he set his alarms and went into sleep mode.

+++++

"Teaching my dog bad habits, Connor." Hank's voice was low and sleep-rough when his words woke the android.

"This was entirely my fault," Connor admitted as he nudged Sumo off, realizing his neck was wet with drool.  "I was cold and had no other way of warming up."

"Didn't think you got cold." Hank scratched sleepily at his beard.

"I didn't either, until I went for a walk last night.  At some point it started to snow and I realized I was cold.  The only other time I've felt like that was while I was trying to find Kamski's back door.  I also discovered last night that CyberLife clothes are not designed with the comfort of the wearer in mind." He was brushing at his jacket, once again ridding it of dog hair.

"If you need clothes, I've got some old shit from college.  It'll do you till we can get something better. If you want."

Connor suddenly felt warmer, the same way he'd felt when Hank had smiled at him.  "I'd appreciate that, thank you, Lieutenant."

"De nada," Hank mumbled, retreating back down the hall.

Connor could hear him moving things around in the bedroom.  Standing, he made his way into the kitchen. A quick search gave him instructions for Hank's coffee maker, and he soon had a fresh brew dripping into the carafe.  Then he prepared a mug for Hank, adding everything he knew the human liked, including more sugar than Connor believed was strictly healthy, but less than Hank would have added himself.

"I got more t-shirts than bottoms." Hank set a haphazard pile of clothing on the kitchen table as Connor turned around.  "They're gonna be a bit roomy on you but not too big. I only had three pairs of drawstring shorts, for you to wear around the house.  The jeans, uhm, belonged to my ex, but none of the pants _I_ have are gonna fit, and even if you **wasn't** getting cold, I couldn't let you outside in shorts in November."

"Thank you." Connor poured the coffee for Hank and handed him the mug, then looked over the pile of clothing.  He found himself giving Hank a brief scan, and the man was right - no pants that fit him would fit Connor. The jeans should fit so he grabbed them, and picked a shirt at random.  "I'll go change."

In the bathroom, Connor undressed, leaving on only his socks.  The jeans fit his waist and hips, though they were a bit short, leaving him to wonder what Hank's ex had been like.  The shirt, emblazoned with a logo for a band called Baby Metal, fit a bit loosely as Hank had suggested it would. Whether it was the weight of the garments, or the fact that they were Hank's, Connor felt warmer already.  His socks were the same as they'd been but at least he _had_ socks and shoes.

Even though his internal sensors informed him exactly how he looked, he checked himself in the mirror, and found that _knowing_ wasn't quite the same as _seeing_.  His internal calibrations didn't take into account the way he was smiling slightly, or how his eyes seemed brighter than just the lighting conditions could account for.  Or the way his cheeks colored slightly when he realized that. Emotions seemed to come with other side effects he hadn't anticipated.

The air was a bit cool on his arms, but in a way that was refreshing rather than chilling.  Smoothing the shirt down, his hands automatically moved to adjust his tie before he remembered he no longer had one.  He studied his reflection once more, taking in the carefully chosen hair; a rich dark brown to suggest seriousness; widow's peak in the hairline to give the idea of maturity to balance the youth of his features; the slight but carefully programmed disarray so he didn't look **too** artificial.

'Designed to facilitate his integration and work harmoniously with humans' he'd told Hank.  Goofy, Hank had called it at the time. He knew now that Hank was likely just being irascible on purpose, attempting to put him on his guard and push him away.  At the time, he'd thought nothing of it, not having lied when he said he enjoyed the challenge of someone being deliberately difficult to work with.

Reaching up, Connor ran a hand through his hair, watching the artificial strands move and part the way real hair would.  As soon as his fingers passed, however, it slid right back, each strand returning to its pre programmed spot, literally leaving no hair out of place.  Connor scowled slightly and repeated the gesture, with the same result. Then he used both hands to vigorously attempt to muss his hair. When it returned to the same perfectly arranged style he'd been programmed with, he actually let out a little growl.  He didn't object to his hair as such, but he was starting to object to not being able to change it.

He braced his hands on either side of the sink, letting his head fall as he considered his options.  HIs eyes lit on the yellow sticky pad and the pen that were clearly the source of several of the notes decorating the bathroom.  In a moment of inspiration, he wrote "CHANGE HAIR?" on one and stuck it near "SHAVE OR NOT" before he nodded to himself, feeling weirdly better.  His own computer-perfect CyberLife font handwriting was a sharp contrast to Hank's messier scrawl. A final tug on the hem of his shirt and he stepped back out of the bathroom.

Across the hall, he saw movement and poked his head in.  "How do I look?" he asked.

Hank looked up from the cabinet in the corner of his room, the contents strewn about in piles.  "Not as weird as I thought you'd look in Kelly's jeans," Hank admitted. "Do me a favor, there's some big empty plastic boxes in the garage, can you grab me one?"

"Sure!" Glad of something clearly defined to do, Connor opened the door into Hank's unused garage, surprised at the amount of stuff that was there.  It was clear that despite the generally uncluttered nature of the living space, Hank was something of a packrat. There were several large furniture items and a wealth of boxes.  Quickly locating the object of his search, Connor grabbed one, curious as to its purpose.

In his absence, Hank had shifted from kneeling to sitting and was absently rubbing one knee.  "Ahh, thanks," he opened the box and began to transfer the piles from the cabinet into it, leaving only a few things out; a photo album, what looked to be a jewelry box, and a small cardboard box.  Connor didn't scan the contents, having a better idea of privacy than he once did, and there was no reason to invade Hank's needlessly. "It's not much, but," Hank gestured vaguely at the now empty cabinet, looking a bit embarrassed as he made his way to his feet.

Connor's LED blinked yellow for a moment as he realized what Hank had done.  "Thank you, Lieutenant. I've never had … anything to need to put anywhere so it didn't occur to me that I didn't have anywhere to put the clothing."

"Well, like I said, it's not much.  But it'll do for the clothes you have now.  I'll go through my closet later and make some room there, because we're getting you more clothes today or tomorrow."

Connor felt a surge of warmth and found himself wanting to hug Hank, and be hugged in return. But an empty cabinet wasn't on a par with an android revolution, perhaps it would be too intimate for Hank?  Before Connor could make up his mind, Hank gave his back an awkward pat and took the plastic box out to the garage.

The clothing was folded quickly and put away, then Connor refreshed Sumo's bowls and washed the empty coffee mug.  Hank's phone rang and he could hear the rumble of him answering it as he came back down the hallway.

"Thought I was suspended till the end of fucktember," Hank growled. "Uh-huh.  So it's all hands on deck." He grunted into the phone a few more times. "What about Connor? Look, if you need all the warm bodies you can get, he's as good as any three of the rest of us fuckers.  And it'll show people that at least the DPD has faith in androids, which will send a signal to the rest of the fucking city. And I can't come in till tomorrow I already got plans today and I can't fucking cancel.  None of your fucking business what, Jeff. I'll see you tomorrow," he growled and hung up. "How much'd you hear?"

"Only your half, there was no reason to listen in on the other side, so I chose not to hear it."

"Long story short, we're both back to work tomorrow, so we gotta do something about your clothes situation today.  Only about ten percent of the androids opted to report for duty again, and since most of the population is coming back as quickly as they can be bussed in - not enough places to put everyone, not in them middle of winter - they need -"

"All hands on deck, yes," Connor finished with a nod.  "I appreciate you speaking up on my behalf, Lieutenant."

"Eh.  Better than leaving you sitting around all day, and besides, I meant it.  Show people humans and androids can still work together or some shit like that.  And if things go south, you're a good man to have around."

Connor smiled at the compliment.  "So are you, LIeutenant."

Hank dismissed the compliment with another grunt but Hank could see a certain satisfaction in his face.  

The topic turned to clothes and Connor was able to provide the addresses of a few clothing-specific stores that were still open, and a handful more that sold clothing in addition to other items.

"We're starting with that suit place," Hank said after he dressed, shrugging into his coat.  He handed another one to Connor who pulled it on, feeling it enhance the warmth that he was increasingly unable to separate whether it was from Hank or the garment.  He decided it didn't matter.

"I don't require a suit," Connor protested.  "Also, I should have mentioned previously, I have no means of paying.  If I can borrow-"

"I'm paying.  You cleaned my house top to bottom.  And you **do** need a suit.  I've never met anyone as fucking neat and tidy as you are.  We'll get you other shit too. Besides, every guy needs a suit.  It's a fuckin' rule."

They managed to procure not one but two suits.  One a medium grey three piece suit, and a darker two piece suit.  Leaving them to be tailored, they visited two more clothing shops, a thrift store, and a shoe store.

By the end of the day, Hank had cleared out the section of his closet nearest the door, which had been mostly filled with boxes anyway.  Connor hung his clothes there. While Hank was in the kitchen, Connor slipped over to Hank's side and added a shirt there as well.

He'd found it at the thrift store where they'd obtained the bulk of Connor's clothing.  He wasn't entirely sure if he'd managed to hide the shirt successfully among the other garments, but he was certain Hank wouldn't have thought it was for him.  It was of a piece with the rest of his clothing, boldly patterned, and made of an expensive silk blend.

When Hank went to bed, Connor was again left to his own devices.  Instead of walking this time, he accessed the police database, looking for the cases they would most likely be assigned and beginning research on them, assembling names, addresses, and suggestions.

+++++

The next week was one of the most chaotic Connor had ever known, and that included the revolution itself.  Androids were streaming in, and even with all of Carl Manfred's considerable property in Markus' hands, they were running out of places to put them.   Humans were also returning in droves. The evacuation hadn't even been officially completed when people started coming back. There were inevitable clashes between the various groups.

When CyberLife - property and assets - was officially sized by the government, it was handed to the androids as 'reparations' to be divided up as Markus' provisional government saw fit.  That eased things considerably, since there was more than enough room at CyberLife tower for roughly ten times the current android population within the city.

After that first week, things settled down.  Connor and Hank were still working the majority of high profile cases involving androids.  It was difficult for Connor at times, despite his actions at the end, he was still frequently greeted by hostility from his own kind.  He was blamed for his actions hunting deviants, and for the loss of Jericho and everyone who'd died in the explosion or been captured and destroyed because of him.  

Progress was made, but it was slow.  An android rights amendment was pushed through, Connor was now a person under the law, with rights and their attendant responsibilities.  He was now entitled to a paycheck, which he put into an account and forgot about. His only real need was thirium and that was provided free, along with replacement parts, to any android, whether a Jericho resident or not.  Their version of universal health care.

When he wasn't working with Hank, Connor was either doing the paperwork and some of the grunt work on their cases, or he occasionally spent time at Jericho.  His skills as a negotiator were handy. Markus had also pointed out that no one was going to learn what Connor was like **now** if they never saw him.

So work, and occasional trips to Jericho were Connor's life for a solid month. Until tonight.  Hank had finally learned how much of his free time Connor spent working their cases. Said Connor needed a hobby, didn't strictly **order** him to stop what he'd been doing, but Connor took the hint, even if it did leave him at odds once again.

Since now he had enough clothes, and plenty of thirum so he could afford to heat himself, Connor decided on another walk.  He'd seen plenty of the city, but mostly during the day, or from vehicles, or crime scenes at night. He hadn't really been able to take it in again, as he had that first time.  A check of the weather promised clear skies, though there was plenty of snow on the ground.

He gathered his clothes quietly, the warmest jeans, a t-shirt, a sweater, and one of Hank's hoodies.  Clothing that had specifically been Hank's was still always warmer than anything else. At least it felt that way to Connor, his internal temperature was consistent regardless of what he wore.  A winter coat over everything, and a pair of winter boots, covering a pair of bright pink argyle socks.

He smiled as he wiggled his toes in the boots, getting his feet comfortable.   It had transpired that his taste in socks ran similar to Hank's taste in shirts.  Bold patterns, and Connor liked bright colors. They were usually hidden, which allowed im to indulge in some truly eye-bleeding colors while still maintaining a professional appearance at work.  

Something that warmed Connor to his core was when he found an unfamiliar pair amidst his socks.  He never gave Hank grief about the sugar in his coffee on those days. Connor wondered if the Lieutenant had figured that out yet.

Pocketing his key, and giving Sumo a brief pat, Connor stepped outside.  Clear skies, but windy, and the biting cold hit his face. Android breath didn't fog because it lacked the moisture of human breath, but it was cold enough for it, and Connor could almost convince himself  he saw faint billows if he exhaled.

With no particular goal in mind, Connor let both feet and mind wander.  He thought back over the last month, and felt, overall, satisfied with things.  Because they were assigned any cases with android involvement, they handled a much wider range of crimes.  Everything from property theft to murder was now their potential jurisdiction. Cases that once upon a time would have been called assaults and resulted in the destruction of the android were now often very clearly self defense on the part of the android.

Connor's satisfaction was not merely the result of their high solve rate, but because of the chance to interact with his own kind as 'the good guy.'  To actually help androids who had been directly wronged by specific humans was a feeling he could best describe as refreshing. The downside was when his own people were actually the **perpetrators** with no justification.  Self defence was one thing, but some androids - like some humans - simply didn't care about or deliberately ignored laws that were for everyone's benefit.

It was inevitable, he supposed, that there would be some androids who didn't follow Markus' peaceful ways. Ones who didn't prefer some version of the previous status quo where androids were subservient to humans and thought nothing of it.  He hesitated to label them a bad element but he couldn't think of a kinder phrase for those androids who seemed to delight in creating friction between the two sides of this uneasy truce.

"Takes all fuckin' kinds, I guess," had been Hank's only real commentary on the subject.

Thinking of the lieutenant brought a smile to Connor's face, broad enough that he briefly felt the cold against his teeth before it faded.  He recalled an incident that he'd filed away into his permanent memory but hadn't allowed himself to access since then.

It seemed a strange case to call them on, except that the _lack_ of evidence pointed to an android.  Hit and runs weren't as common as they had been since the majority of cars were now automated.  Most of them were perpetrated using hybrid or fully driven cars, like Hank's.

This was the third human victim of a vehicle that had no manual override.  There was no evidence of physical tampering, and Connor had conceded that an android _could_ override and control the vehicle, either from inside or remotely.  Most models couldn't, but there were enough who could, or could be modified to do so, that it wouldn't be an easy search.

The parking lot had been the site of the third murder, and it was where Connor was compiling evidence.  Almost as if to taunt them, the vehicle had been left only a few yards from the body. It was as if whoever controlled the vehicle was so sure they couldn't be discovered that they were deliberately leaving clues.  

Connor had been over the body, neither expecting nor finding any real evidence there.  Then he'd inspected the vehicle, inside and out. He found and filed residue from a few dozen androids and countless humans.  He began compiling information on them as he stepped out, looking over the scene, scanning for anything that could be of use.

He let his gaze linger on Hank, who was standing, arms crossed, gazing contemplatively at the body, which had yet to be removed.  He was approaching the lieutenant when movement caught his eye. Another automated vehicle was aimed at the human and increasing in speed.  

Connor snapped into motion, calling out for Hank's attention but there was no time.  The vehicle was moving too quickly for human reflexes. But not for Connor's. He disabled his inhibitors and slammed his body into Hank's, knocking him off his feet and out of the way.  He had twisted them mid-air so Connor's back hit the pavement with Hank's body impacting his.

Connor's body had gone stiff from the impact, arms tight around Hank as his mind reached out.  The vehicle was still close enough that he could find the thread of connection between it and the android controlling it.  It was a lingering contact but for Connor it was enough. He knew who it was, even if they were physically out of Connor's reach right now.

What Connor had not done then, but allowed himself to do now, was replay those last few seconds.  His body impacting Hank's, that warm firm-soft feeling of the big human against him as he pushed Hank out of the way.  Then that same impact far more intensely as Hank's entire bulk had come crashing down against Connor's chest. Had he been human, the air would have been knocked out of him and he doubtless would have broken a rib.  Since that wasn't the case, Connor was now able to simply enjoy the physical sensation of Hank's body flush against his, crushing him into the ground for a few seconds.

He compared it to their embrace outside Chicken Feed, right after the revolution.  It didn't have the same emotional warmth, Hank's arms weren't around him, and it was tinged with fear.  But the pleasure of the sheer physical sensation of being smothered in Hank's mass was something Connor couldn't begin to explain, even to himself.  He only knew that it was classified as one of the top experiences he would like to repeat.

While Connor's feet still carried him unthinkingly through the streets, his mind replayed that moment, at regular speed, and then slowly.  He lingered over every second and if he turned off enough of his external sensors, he could relive the moment, feel that crushing weight, fill his head with Hank's scent.

In his distraction, it never occured to Connor that such unawareness could be dangerous.

He was jolted violently out of the memory by something hitting him in the face.  He can feel his skin being cut, and it was followed up by a sharp punch. He staggered back, forcing his sensors back online and the first thing he could make out was an LED blinking between red and yellow so fast that a human would only see orange.  "FUCKING! I know who you are you fuck!" The scream hit Connor's ears just as he was able to bring his arm up and block the next blow.

Using his grip on the android's arm, he turned him around and got one arm around his neck, drawing on his superior strength to incapacitate him.  He could see shapes moving in his periphery and soon they're surrounded by several more androids. Two still had their LED's, three did not. The additional forces seriously upset the balance.  Connor could fight half this many, easily. Six androids, working in concert might be too much, even for him. Especially since they know who he was. What he'd been.

He can hear the murmurs, overlapping, disjointed, and enraged, '... killed Becca …' '... died because of him …' '... fucking traitor …'

"I don't mean you any harm," He said clearly, using a tone that seemed to work best at soothing his own kind, his arms carefully released the android he held.  "I was only following my programming-" That was apparently the wrong thing to say because they all lunged at him.

He tried not to hurt them, only wanting to push them off so he could escape.  His words either had no impact on them, or enraged them further so he stopped speaking.  For the first time, he had a real, very clear idea of what pain was. He could feel himself start to short circuit after repeated blows to the head.  A weapon crashed into his knee, forcing him to the ground, where his hand was stomped on.

Suddenly everything stopped, and all Connor could hear was retreating footsteps.  He laid unmoving on the pavement, waiting for further assaults. When nothing came, and no one came to his aid, he tried to read back through his memories to figure out what made them stop.  The only possibility is a siren in the distance, coming closer. So some fear of humans at least, perhaps.

Whatever the reason, he was left alone to finally assess and diagnose his injuries, which are more extensive than he expected.  Put simply, he'd been beaten bloody. Even in the darkness, he could tell one optical organ had been corrupted, and he can feel the thirium leaking from a dozen wounds.  When he ran a diagnostic, the results were even worse. Were he human, he would quickly die from his injuries. His left hand is badly damaged, and his right knee as well, and his eye has stopped working entirely now.

Sitting up slowly, he downgraded most of the damage warnings from immediate alerts to non priority warnings.  After he assessed where he was - feeling foolish for having gotten so deeply distracted - he realized he can't get home unaided.  And he wasn't certain he wanted to. He doesn't want Hank to see him like this, weak, damaged, and foolish. Repairs will be required.

Hating to be this weak, Connor sent a call to Markus, feeling the connection waver as his programming automatically began to cut power to less necessary systems to preserve his longevity.  He explained his situation as succinctly as he could, and included his location. Markus promised help before the connection died and Connor was unable to restore it.

Awaiting help and unable to move, Connor tried to process everything that happened.  He had the faces and serial numbers of all of his attackers, but he would not file a report on them.  What he can do is cross reference them with the deviants he hunted down before becoming one himself. It's easy enough to make the connections.  Each of his assailants most likely knew someone, through working together directly or being assigned near each other. And they were all clearly of that element that refused to fit neatly into this new world.

He couldn't blame them.  And, in a sick way, he felt he deserved every blow, and a thousand more.  Programming or not, he'd hunted his own kind, and he would never stop feeling that guilt.  Laying back on the cold ground, Connor let his remaining good eye flutter closed as he waited - for help or for death, he wasn't sure.

A hand to his shoulder woke him and he started in fear at the face hovering over him.  Before he could process, he desperately tried to shuffle back. "Daniel?" It had to be the guilt talking, he realized as his mind came fully back online.  But this wasn't Simon, and Daniel was - he'd killed Daniel. Or gotten him killed. Or allowed him to die. It was all the same. Connor was responsible for his death.

"No.  I'm Jacob.  Markus sent me to help you, I was in the area." He held out a clear bottle filled with thirum.  "This should hold you until you get to Jericho. There's a taxi at the end of the block."

Even though his systems were back online, blood loss had made Connor slow to process external data.  "Thank you," he finally said, taking the bottle. He swallowed it gratefully and already felt better, some of the smaller wounds starting to heal automatically.  Jacob helped him to his feet, supporting him when his knee failed. "I'm sorry," he added, knowing it was inadequate, and that he personally had probably never wronged Jacob, but he had to say it.

It felt like a long time before he answered, though it had only been a few seconds.  "I won't say 'It's okay,' that's a platitude that means nothing to humans and less to us.  But I believe your apology is sincere. Your actions during the revolution and since speak louder than anything."

Jacob deposited him into the cab, then stepped out, his hand holding the door open.  "I live nearby. It's set to take you straight to Jericho, they've got people waiting.  I'd suggest you not return to this area, unless you want a repeat of tonight."

Connor wasn't sure if it was advice or a warning and the door closed before he could ask.  Even with the fresh thirium, Connor's systems were sluggish and he went into stasis to preserve what energy he had.

He didn't wake until he reached Jericho.  Markus was there, looking on as two others helped him out and onto a gurney.  "We'll talk when you're better," the android leader declared and all Connor could do was nod tiredly.

Better took some doing, and he felt a resurgence of guilt at occupying time and resources he didn't feel he deserved.  His eye had to be replaced entirely. Thankfully, brown was an easy enough color to match. His fingers and knee just needed the components forced back into place so they could fuse properly.  It was an extremely painful experience, and Connor cut his vocals so as not to scream, but he didn't let himself block the pain.

Finally Connor was left alone in a sterile looking room, hand and knee wrapped in devices that would keep the injuries immobile while thirium was flooded over and through the injured components, forcing their self-repair.  It would take about an hour or so. Markus found him there a few minutes later. "Your connection died before you could tell me exactly what happened," he said, standing beside Connor's bed.

"It doesn't matter what happened.  I was beaten up, I'm not sure what stopped them going any further, just that they did, and then I was able to call you. I apologize if I upset you or any of the others. I'll pay for the parts and thirium, and the time of those who helped."  He didn't want to accuse his attackers, didn't want to get them in trouble, he'd caused them enough pain.

"That's not- You're one of us, Connor, even if some of the others can't quite get that through their heads.  I can't demand android equality with humans if we don't extend that equality to *all* androids. I'm a lot of things but I try not to be a hypocrite."

Connor wasn't sure how to respond to that, not feeling deserving or worthy of the help, even though he'd asked for it.  "Thank you for sending Jacob," he finally said. "I don't know if I could have made it if not for him."

"You're not the only one of us who's wandered into a bad part of town, I try to have people everywhere, to keep an eye on them, and to help people who need it, us and humans.  Jacob said you seemed alarmed by him. I take it Daniel was…" He trailed off, intending for Connor to fill in the blank.

He didn't want to, but Markus deserved the truth.  "He was my first case, as a negotiator." He explained, Daniel was going to be replaced, and went deviant.  Killed his owner, nearly killed the child he'd been looking after for years. Died because of Connor.

Markus studied Connor for several minutes after he finished.  "Do you wanna tell me how you got into _such_ bad shape? From what I understand, you're specifically designed to be a lot better than the rest of us." He didn't sound bitter, and Connor didn't think he was.

"Even I have trouble with six on one." Especially when he didn't really fight back.  When he deserved it. Guilt swept over him again, but it was less than before, muted and not as intense.  He checked the time and sighed. "I need to be getting back, soon, the Lieutenant will wake up and wonder why I'm not there." It would be a little while, yet, but he didn't want Markus asking any more questions.  And he didn't want to ask anything himself, especially not for favors, not now. With CyberLife assets and equipment in Markus hands now, it was unlikely he was at risk of losing control again.

Markus didn't look fooled, but he nodded.  "I'll leave you to it, then," he said, giving Connor's shoulder a pat as he stood.  "Be careful. I can give you a map of the areas you're better off staying away from."

"That would be appreciated." A moment later, he received it and filed it away.  He carefully didn't promise to use it for the intended purpose. "Thank you, Markus."

His hand was healed first, which just made waiting for his knee to finish even more frustrating.  Even his coin didn't occupy him for long, though it did assure him that his hand had been restored to good working order.  He allowed himself one slow replay each of the hug, and the more recent moment with Hank. The warmth and comfort both memories gave him soothed him and let him pass the time.

The sky was just turning pink when he climbed out of the cab and let himself quietly into Hank's place.  Their place. He shrugged off his coat, stepped out of his shoes and began his morning routine.

+++++

Connor was subdued in the days following his attack, and Hank began to take notice.

"Something on your mind? Been real fuckin' quiet the last few days." They were in the parking lot of the Chicken Feed, tucked into the car out of the vicious winter wind.

"I've had a great deal to think about." Connor said quietly, straightening his tie, once again glad Hank had talked him into suits for work.

"You usually do, but you've barely invaded my privacy for, like, a week, I'm starting to think something's wrong."

Hank's efforts at teasing brought a smile to Connor's face. "Lieutenant, can I ask you a personal question?" he specifically used the same tone and cadence CyberLife had programmed him for, not the more natural one he'd adopted in the last few weeks.

"There you are," Hank snorted softly, opening the box his burger was in and taking a bite, gesturing for Connor to continue.

"What do humans do about … feelings of guilt?"

Hank chewed very, very slowly and if he had an LED Connor was certain it would have been blinking yellow, possibly even red. "Depends. Some fuckers go to church, pray to a god they probably don't even believe in, and then some asshole in a dress tells 'em to pray just exactly so and it's all better."

"Catholicism," Connor said after a brief search. "Confession, and penance. Were you raised Catholic?"

"Not really. My dad was, but mom refused to convert, so he'd drag me to church sometimes and I'd sit looking for dirty words in the hymnal or whatever while he went into the confessional."

Connor smiled at the image of a young Hank - looking much like Cole - sitting uncomfortably on a wooden pew, poking through holy texts in search of the forbidden. "Did you find any?"

"Lotta hell and damn but they didn't count. Cock made me giggle when I was eight, though. Why the sudden curiosity about guilt of all things?"

"Lately, I've been … I know it was just my programming, but I am directly responsible for the destr-for the **death** of several dozen androids. And those are just the ones I'm personally, directly responsible for, either because I killed them myself, or I captured them and sent them to CyberLife for destruction."

"Aw, fuck, Connor. That's … That wasn't **you** , you have to know that. That was … them. CyberLife. Amanda, all that shit. That's not you."

"But it was. It is. I remember doing it, I remember the … satisfaction of a job well done. I can-" Connor looked at his hands, folded neatly in his lap and turned them palm up. "I can still feel the blood sometimes," he admitted softly, rubbing them together as if to wipe away the sticky feel.

"Jesus," Hank sighed, stuffing his half eaten burger back into the box, rubbing his forehead.

"I didn't mean to upset your appetite, LIeutenant," Connor said, another stab of guilt twisting in his stomach.

"No, it's not that. They really did a fucking number on you, Connor. You're more human than half the assholes we work with, and you've got enough baggage to choke a whale." He straightened up, reaching to give Connor's shoulder a squeeze. "Know it doesn't mean a whole lot, but you're a different person, now."

"From you, it **does** mean a lot," Connor said honestly. "I don't think I've ever told you how much your help has meant to me. Almost from when we met, your … approval began to matter to me, and it was _not_ a function of my programming." Connor savored, and carefully filed the squeeze to his shoulder, adding it to the small but slowly growing collection of touches from Hank. "Your opinion of me colored nearly every decision I made, all of which culminated in my **not** killing Markus, and attaining deviancy."

Hank was quiet for a long time before he spoke. "Then-then listen to me, okay? Yeah, you might've … done some fucked up shit before you woke up or whatever. But you also did a lot of good after that. A **lot** of good. I've seen some of the commentary, even with the public on Markus' side, there weren't enough androids there at the end to really make it stick."

Connor opened his mouth to protest but Hank cut him off with a gesture.

"The American military has generally never had a problem firing on civilians, our own or anyone else's, and that's the fucking truth. The reporters and shit, they only held them off for a little while, even with the public on Markus' side, it was only a matter of time before some excuse was found or manufactured to massacre the survivors and put an end to the revolution. But when you showed up, you and your brand new army of thousands - **that's** what finally broke it. So aside from all the ones that you personally woke up, you also saved the rest of the movement, all the ones they'd rounded up at their fucking death camps. Markus might be the leader, but you turned the tide."

Looking down at his hands, Connor swallowed, feeling something tighten in his chest, and then it broke as Hank's words, so gruff and sincere, washed over him. Guilt was mingled with relief and he didn't realize he was crying until he opened his mouth to thank him and a sob came out.

"Ah fuck," Hank said roughly, and Connor at first thought he was upset at the android's emotional display. Then he felt a callused hand to the back of his neck, briefly cold, then heavy and warm. "Didn't mean to make you cry, Con," he said.

Connor found himself listing to the side, towards Hank, wanting that warmth wrapped around him. Wanted Hank to squeeze him so hard all the broken parts of him fused back together into something better, if not whole.

"Come here." The bench seat facilitated the gesture and Connor slid across, knocking the half eaten burger to the floor in his pursuit of warmth and comfort part of him still felt he didn't deserve.

A broad, heavy arm around his shoulders pulled him closer to Hank's chest. The positions and he steering column made a proper hug impossible, but Connor took what he could get and found himself nuzzling just slightly into Hank's shoulder. The warm, rich scent of Hank's cologne, his natural musk, and a thousand other smells that together made up HANK, filled Connor's head and soothed some of the pain inside him.

Connor wasn't sure how much time passed, but he knew they were interrupted by Hank's phone. Some information had come in on one of their cases and they needed to act fast.

"Alright, we'll be there in twenty," he growled down the phone, his other arm still around Conner's shoulders. "Feeling any better?" he asked quietly.  

Sitting up, Connor nodded, wiping at his face. "Much, thank you," he murmured. "Let me get you another burger." It would be a simple task, and a way to thank Hank for his assistance. Even if Connor still didn't quite have an answer to his question, he did feel a lot better.

"Nevermind, I don't need the calories." Hank gave Connor a wink at that before he started the car, heading towards the station and back to their jobs.

+++++

"What would you like me to cook for dinner?" Connor asked the next night on their way home. They had finished the case, and knocked off on time for once.  
  
Hank glanced at him sideways as he considered the question. "Let's go out. Celebrate a job well done. I'm sure we can find a place that'll let you bring in some thirium."  
  
Connor thought it over. Aside from the Chicken Feed, and a few places that delivered, Connor had cooked all of the meals since he began living with Hank. "That would be an interesting experience," he admitted. "Do you have somewhere in mind?"  
  
Hank mulled the question over, tapping an absent minded beat on the steering wheel. "There's a place called Ruby's, jazz club, pretty swanky so we'll have to change. That sound okay?"  
  
After some thought, and unable to find anything definitive on his own, Connor asked what he felt was the most relevant question. "Would it be wise if I removed my LED for the evening?"  
  
"No." Hank's voice was firm. "They've always been android friendly, and I'm pretty sure the ones they had on staff chose to stay and work there. Wouldn't take you somewhere you wouldn't be welcome, Connor." The last words were quietly spoken.  
  
"I appreciate the consideration, Lieutenant." Connor smiled a little, curious what the evening would be like. At Hank's suggestion, he made a reservation remotely, giving them approximately an hour and a half to get there.  
  
"Should be enough time," Hank confirmed as he pulled up to the house. "You mind giving Sumo his walk while I start getting ready?"  
  
"Of course!" Even if Hank didn't really need much time, he would need notably more time than Conner, who merely had to change. Inside, Hank gave his dog a pat and then went right into the shower.  
  
Connor took in the cold evening, enjoying the crisp air. His insides clenched a little as he recalled the last time he'd been out alone like this, but he was nowhere near a dangerous area, and had no intention of being. Sumo guided him around the neighborhood and finally did his stinky business in the yard of a house with a few anti android signs plastered on the front door and hammered into the yard.  
  
Connor did not clean up after him.  
  
Somewhat to his surprise, Hank was still in the bathroom, though he couldn't hear the shower running. Normally, Connor changed in the bedroom after Hank did, but he didn't want to be in the way. Grabbing his 3 piece suit, which he hadn't yet worn, he selected a dove blue shirt and a darker tie, the latter a gift from Hank.  
  
In the living room, Connor stripped, leaving only his socks, having no need or desire to change them. Today they were a bright purple with turquoise lighting bolts. Connor dressed carefully, not wanting to wrinkle his clothes or get any dog hair on them. He had his pants on and was buttoning his shirt when he heard the bathroom door open, followed by the bedroom door closing. Shirt tucked in, cuffs done, tie, waistcoat, then finally the jacket, and Connor was dressed at last.  
  
He was brushing the dog hair from his coat when movement caught his eye and he turned to see Hank, stilling once he laid eyes on him.  
  
Aside from a very deep and sometimes confusing emotional connection, Connor already knew he found certain aspects of the police Lieutenant very appealing on a physical level.  Objectively speaking, he also knew that Hank wasn't an unattractive man. But understanding that a man was generally considered attrac _tive_ was a very different thing to actually being attrac _ted_ , as Connor quickly learned.  
  
The first difference to his usual look was that his hair, still damp, was tied back, leaving only a few strands to frame his rugged face. A face with a freshly trimmed beard, which surprised Connor. It wasn't something he generally did, only attending to it when the moustache got long enough to get stuck in his food. Connor had seen the suit before, but only on a hanger and it fit the broad lieutenant remarkably well. The surprisingly plainly patterned blue shirt brought out his striking eyes. It was only when Connor's gaze reached those eyes that he realized he was staring. When he licked his lips as a precursor to speaking, he saw the almost imperceptible shift in Hank's pupils, and a brief scan confirmed a slight jump in his pulse.  
  
_Oh_ . Well then.  
  
Connor was still searching for words when Hank broke the heavy silence. "I, uhm, forgot how to tie this fuckin' thing." Hank held up a black tie with gold diagonal striping that was around his neck, untied. "Can't make it come out right."  
  
"I-I could assist." Connor finally remembered how to speak and even though there was no reason for it, he could swear his thirium pump was working faster. With the briefest of nods from Hank, Connor stepped around the couch and into the kitchen. He couldn't bring himself to look into Hank's eyes at this proximity so he focused his gaze on the tie.  "May I ask a question, Lieutenant?"  
  
Hank's wordless murmur of approval was close enough that Connor could almost feel it on his cheek, or imagined he could.  
  
"If I'm overstepping a boundary, I only ask that we pretend I never said anything but ... Is this a date?" His pump froze in his chest as he awaited the answer, fingers still fiddling with Hank's tie.  
  
"D'you want it to be?" Hank's softly spoken answer released a spring of tension Connor hadn't been aware of.  
  
"I would not object in the least if it was," he admitted, finally braving a glance up at those vivid blue eyes.  Tie done, he allowed his hands to fold down the collar of Hank's shirt, then took a step back before he did anything more.  He really was a very handsome man.  
  
"Then it's a date." Hank fingered the knot, adjusting it minutely.  "Just don't expect me to get all mushy and shit." The words were gruffly spoken but Connor could see the softness in Hank's gaze, and wondered how long it had been there without him noticing?  
  
"Of course.  And if things ... go well I don't anticipate it interfering with our professional relationship, either." At least Connor hoped it wouldn't, he didn't want to give up the human as his partner.  
  
"Me neither," Hank agreed, giving himself a final straightening.  "Glad the monkey suit still fits," he said, apparently attempting to get things back onto more familiar ground, now that the tension between them had dissipated.  Somewhat.  
  
"It fits you very well," Connor assured him, giving him a slow onceover, hoping the nature of his gaze was clear.  Given the way Hank's cheeks went a little red, he'd made his point.  
  
"Yours too.  Look real good, Connor.  Real good."  
  
"Thank you, Lieutenant."  
  
"Okay, yeah, It doesn't matter the rest of the time, but since this **is** a date, please call me Hank? I know you can, I've heard it."  
  
"Of course.  Hank," he said with a smile, one of the more natural ones he'd ever had.  
  
"Okay.  Good. Let's, uhm, let's get going we have just about enough time to get there."  
  
+++++

The evening progressed pleasantly. As Hank had promised, there was no problem with Connor from the staff. A few patrons gave him the hairy eyeball but it was no worse than he was used to. They were seated in a small curved booth so they could both see the stage, where a live singer and jazz band provided a mellow atmosphere.  
  
Hank ordered a steak, washing it down with an expensive brand of whiskey that he didn't drink at home. By unspoken agreement, talk of work was _verbotten_ , and Connor found himself listening to Hank's low, rich voice discuss jazz, the history of it, and the artists he particularly liked. Usually when they spoke about music, it was the heavy metal he preferred in the car and at work - loud, energetic music that was in no way relaxing.  
  
Jazz, however, was very much so. It had an energy, but it was a mellow energy. Where Heavy Metal was mosh pits and shouting, jazz was smoother, deep, throaty singing and songs that felt as old as time itself.  
  
A few times, Connor was able to just watch Hank, see the way his face softened and relaxed when he listened to the singer. A broad tipped finger stroking the rim of his glass absently following the music. He flushed slightly but smiled when he caught Connor staring. Connor averted his gaze, taking another sip of his thirium and turning his attention to the singer that had so captivated Hank.  
  
As promised, there was no 'mushy stuff' or stolen touches, but there was something in the air. A tension, but a pleasant one. Connor didn't know where it was going to go, he had no real metric for forming a relationship that went beyond friendship. But he was looking forward to exploring it. His only concern was what to do about the topic of sex when it inevitably came up. Despite finding Hank's body physically appealing and wanting to be closer to him in both a physical and romantic capacity, he had no desire for actual sex whatsoever.  
  
"You okay, Connor?" Hank was standing beside the table, waiting for Connor.  
  
"My apologies, I was lost in thought." Connor stood and they were soon out the door, closing their coats against the bitter December cold.  
  
"Care to share?" Hank opened the car door for Connor, a gesture the android found both pointless and touching. Leaning towards touching.  
  
"Just … thinking about the future." He smiled warmly at Hank as the door was closed.  
  
When they arrived back home, Sumo was asleep, only lifting his head to huff at the pair before resting his head back in his paws and resuming whatever doggie dreams they'd interrupted.  
  
"God, the sleep of the fuckin' innocent." Hank crouched, giving his dog a scratch behind his ears while Connor hung up both their coats.  
  
"Hank, I'm unsure of how to proceed. My research on dates is inconclusive and unhelpful at this juncture." He didn't like being frustrated or uncertain, but the one person he felt comfortable _admitting it_ to was standing before him.  
  
Hank was already undoing his tie with a faint grimace. "First things first, I'm getting into something more comfortable. I suggest you do the same." To soften the seeming callousness of his words, he gave Connor's shoulder a gentle squeeze, fingers drifting up to his neck for a moment. "Then we'll talk," he promised.  
  
Suitably comforted, Connor nodded. He followed Hank into his bedroom only long enough to procure a change of clothes; a pair of sweatpants, and with a shy smile, one of Hank's hoodies.  
  
Hank changed into a similar outfit, and they were both soon on the couch, TV on but turned low, as a background hum. "Look, it's, uhm, been a while since I did anything like this. After-" Hank cut himself off, taking a breath and sitting forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Cole's mom and I, we weren't really together, not in a standard kind of way. We got together once every few weeks or so, to ah, relieve the tension. She was a nurse, so she got it. The fucked up shit we see, the hours we deal with. When she turned up pregnant-" He scrubbed both hands over his face then through his unbound hair.  
  
"You don't need to talk about this." Connor's voice was gentle, hoping Hank didn't assume he meant Connor didn't want to hear it.  
  
"No, I know," Hank gave him a brief smile.  "But I should, this is-this is shit you should know. When she turned up pregnant, we gave it a go. Got a place, got married. We realized it was a bad idea before Cole was even born. Thankfully, we were smart enough to get out before we hated each other. At some point, also, she realized she wasn't really cut out for motherhood. I didn't think I was cut out to be a dad, but I loved him-" Hank's voice was rough, on the verge of cracking.  
  
Silence hung in the air for a few moments, Hank's face pressed into his hands. Uncertain of how he could offer comfort, or if it would even be welcome, Connor placed a hesitant hand on Hank's shoulder, but said nothing.  He didn't think this was the conversation Hank had intended to have, but Connor was deeply touched that he was opening up like this. To an android no less.  
  
"I loved him so much, even before he was born." His voice was a bit steadier and he didn't shrug off Connor's hand. "But, uhm, yeah. Been out of the dating game for a long fuckin' time, and didn't do it much before then. Just … hook ups in bars and shit. I mean, I had a girlfriend in high school, boyfriend in college, but it was more the kind of thing you fell into and out of, picking someone in your circle of friends." He finally sat back, his eyes slightly red as he gave Connor a small smile, almost regretful. "What I guess I'm saying is … I have no fucking clue what we're doing either."  
  
Hearing those words, that hint of laughter in Hank's voice eased the nerves Connor had felt building up all evening. The anxiety building up like static electricity was gone and Connor let out an embarrassingly loud, brief laugh, a sound of pure relief.  
  
Not for the first time, the two found themselves laughing on the couch, far more than the situation warranted. But shared laughter has a way of feeding on itself, and in the end they lay slumped, exhausted and still a little giddy with Connor leaning back against Hank and Hank's arm around the android's shoulders.  
  
As they grew quiet, and more aware of their positions, the previous tension began to creep back, but it was sweeter, more anticipation than anxiety. Connor reached up, letting his fingers drift over the hand resting over his shoulder. "It's … reassuring that, for once, we seem be equally uncertain."  
  
"Nice that I finally found something you can't become an expert on in five minutes." Hank was clearly teasing, his shoulder nudging gently against Connor's back, his voice light.  
  
Connor mulled that over, fingers slowly exploring Hank's hand in a way he'd never been allowed before. "I could probably develop a psychological guide on how to best proceed for the maximum chance of an optimal result." He smiled when Hank snorted, his thumb brushing against Connor's fingers when they were close.  
  
"So why don't you?" Hank's voice was equal measures curious and teasing.  
  
"I find-" Connor turned, letting his cheek brush against the side of Hank's thumb. "I prefer to go about exploring my emotions in a more human fashion."  
  
"Humans can get pretty messy, Con. Especially where their emotions are concerned."  
  
Abandoning Hank's hand, Connor shifted, pulling away but only to turn and face him, kneeling on the couch, one hand on Hank's shoulder. "I'd rather be a human mess than a machine anything," he said quietly, meeting Hank's gaze, soaking in the open look in those blue eyes, deep and vulnerable, much like his own, he was sure.  
  
Hank's arm bent, sliding along Connor's until his hand rested on Connor's shoulder, then slid up to the back of his neck. Following his instinct, Connor moved closer, one hand resting on Hank's shoulder.  
  
When their mouths met, the kiss was light, brief, and Connor felt it down to his toes. Giving into one of his very earliest visceral **wants** , he shifted once more, letting himself press against Hank's body as he kissed him again. Hank didn't disappoint, both arms wrapping around him, holding Connor to his chest as they kissed.  
  
Connor didn't realize how lost he was in the kisses until Hank drew back with a deep breath. Connor made a sound that could only be described as a whine. A _needy_ one at that.  
  
Hank chuckled softly, one hand moving to rest on the back of Connor's neck. "Nice to know I've still got it." He chuckled softly.  
  
"I like this." Connor licks his lips, refusing to let himself analyze. He knows what he'll find - he can taste it. Steak, whiskey, broccoli. Hank. "I thought I would enjoy kissing you, and I was right." He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks but forced himself to continue. "And I like … this," He ran a hand down Hank's side as he pressed his weight against him for a moment.  
  
Hank gave a soft snort at that. "Come on," He shook his head, his words more gentle than derisive. "Don't gotta flatter me, Con," he said assuringly.  
  
"It isn't flattery, Hank." Connor was as sincere as he knew how to be. He briefly pursed lips, trying to decide if he should tell Hank how much he enjoyed being wrapped up, squeezed, smothered by him. The very thought brought a blush to his cheeks. "I take comfort in the … the bulk of you," he kept his gaze lowered, embarrassed at the confession, hoping he wasn't offending Hank.  
  
"The bulk of me, huh?" Hank gave a little snort but his lips were still curved into a faint smile. "Well, humans are into some weird shit, who says androids can't be too?" The way Hank's thumb brushed soft and steady against Connor's hairline softened any possible offence at 'weird shit.'  
  
Connor smiled, leaning in once more, taking the initiative this time to press his mouth to Hank's. The gambit paid off when the man groaned softly and his lips parted just slightly. Connor accepted the invitation and pressed his tongue into Hank's mouth, rewarded by a throaty moan and arms tight around him once again.  
  
This time, when Hank ended the kiss, it was with a soft groan. "This, uh, that position can't be comfortable," he murmured, his hand sweeping down Connor's slightly twisted back.  
  
He was still on his knees, his body turned, shoulders twisted to align himself better with Hank so as not to strain the human. "It isn't uncomfortable," he said, eyes heavy lidded, and he smiled at Hank's concern.  
  
Hank cleared his throat, looking once more uncertain. "I, uhm, as much as I'm enjoying this, we should probably call it a night," he seemed reluctant but determined to say the words.  
  
Connor's LED flashed yellow for a moment as he processed both disappointment and relief. If they were to engage in sexual activities beyond kissing, he was grateful to be putting it off. But he also very much wanted to stay and kiss Hank a good deal more. "I understand," he smiled, leaning in to kiss Hank once more before he drew back, sitting on the opposite corner of the couch, knees drawn up, aware that the look that fell naturally onto his face could best be described as 'dreamy.'  
  
Hank seemed captivated by it, gazing at Connor for nearly a full minute before he got himself in gear and stood. Despite Connor's best efforts to ease any discomfort in their positions, Hank's back and shoulders emitted a soft series of pops and crackles when he stretched. Drawing his arms up over his head, his shirt rode up to reveal a sliver of skin, a full belly and the crease it made against his hip.  
  
That visceral reminder of Hank's bulk forced the tiniest of sounds out of Connor's throat, one he hoped was too quiet for Hank's hearing.  
  
If he did hear it, he made no mention of it. He rounded the couch, then slid a hand through Connor's hair on his way by. "Good night," he murmured, not noticing the way the passage of his hand had no effect.  
  
Connor heard the bathroom door close, and turned down his hearing, dismissing warnings about compromised senses - he'd merely turned it down to normal human levels, out of respect for Hank's privacy.  
  
Eventually the bathroom door opened and the bedroom door closed.  Connor gradually turned his hearing up, only seeking to check if Hank was asleep.  Finally - after a longer wait than he would have thought, he heard the Lieutenant's faint snoring and smiled.  
  
Connor scanned his way around the house, making sure all the windows and doors were locked.  He could easily have stood, but his body was tingling with the memory of Hank's touch and he wanted to keep it that way.   After switching off the TV and the lights, Connor drew the blanket off back of the couch and laid down, with his head pressed into the cushions where Hank had been earlier, starting to realize his scent had a similar effect to his hugs, it soothed something deep inside Connor.    
  
He gave a soft huff of pleasure at the sudden, expected weight of a st. bernard on his back, giant head flopping onto his shoulder.  "Night, Sumo," his words were largely muffled by the couch cushion. Setting his usual timing and proximity alarms, Connor went into recharge mode.  
  
+++++

Coming on the heels of their date, Christmas itself was unremarkable, owing in part to the fact that they agreed to take extra shifts so the officers with children could be home.

The time they did have to themselves was pleasant. It never went beyond kissing, and Connor began to notice that every time things got especially heated, Hank would begin to wind things down and scurry off to bed. It left Connor both relieved and frustrated.

The main concession to the holiday was a **very** brief interlude in the evidence room. Some joker, according to Hank, had hung up mistletoe, directly over the access station.  Hank had made sure to close the door. Then, cupping Connor's chin, he pulled him in for a brief kiss that nevertheless left him tingling when it was over. Neither said anything, but Connor could see Hank's ears going pink, and he himself replayed the kiss several times that night before entering low power mode.

Hank blamed it on the holidays when the days leading up to new years seemed to get steadily more packed with cases, leaving them with less and less time to do more than sleep for a few hours.

Still, Connor had no real complaints. Even his guilt began to ease, as if perhaps the new life he was living, trying his utmost to help those around him, was a suitable penance for what had come before.

An incident in early January changed that, and brought his guilt crashing forward. They'd been going to speak to a potential witness who may have seen an attack on a pair of androids. Connor had done his usual searches for known associates or family of the human but nothing had raised any red flags.

An android opened the door, and Hank began to speak, introducing themselves. Connor said nothing, seeing the fear in the woman's eyes before she masked it, her LED blinking yellow/red for an instant. Automatically, with barely a thought, he scanned her and ran a brief search. She'd been owned by a household where another android had gone deviant some months ago, and been chased down and deactivated. By Connor.

In the time it took for Connor to process all of this, Hank was only just finishing introducing the two of them. "Lieutenant, I must ask you to handle this alone, I've been called away." He caught Hank's gaze and his eyes flicked to the android, her LED still yellow.

Hank regarded him for a moment and Connor knew he'd be asking about this later, but he let it go for now. "Yeah, sure. I'll, uh, give you a call when I'm done? Need the car or-?"

"No, thank you, I'll take a cab." With that, Connor strode off, hoping that by removing himself quickly he would put the other android at ease enough to at least not interfere with the case.

He made it to the end of the block to a tiny little park before collapsing onto a bench and burying his face in his hands. His mind was racing too fast to be aware of his thoughts as coherent, separate images. Thirium pump pounding, he saw faces, serial numbers, heard voices cry out in fear and pain and terror as he did his job with ruthless efficiency. Jericho exploding, more innocent lives lost because of him.

How could he be so foolish? It was impossible; no amount of 'good deeds' could undo what he'd done. Tears of anger and grief slid down his face even as he tried in vain to wipe them away. He didn't deserve to cry; it was cathartic, a release.

Unbidden, the memory of his attack weeks ago returned and he sobbed into his hands as his body throbbed with remembered agony. _That_ was what he deserved. That was the only way he could even begin to atone for his actions. Pain for pain.

Eventually, though he wasn't sure how, Connor got himself back under control. It was a tenuous control, guilt and anger and growing self hatred simmering just below the surface, but he could make it through the day.

His internal phone beeped and he answered it, speaking aloud. "Connor speaking." Feeling his throat vibrate with simulated sounds helped to ground him. Hank's voice helped more.

With the information gleaned from the witness, they were kept busy for some hours, even staying hours beyond their normal time. Usually it was Connor who gently coaxed Hank into clocking out on a regular schedule.

Right now, though, going home on time would leave them with several hours to kill before Hank went to bed. Hours that Connor did not want to have free, knowing Hank would ask about the incident earlier.

"Come on," Hank finally reached and turned off his monitor. "I'm done, we're going home." It was close to midnight.

"Of course." There was a bite to Hank's voice that Connor did not want to analyze, and his only reprieve was that the lieutenant waited until they were home.

"You wanna tell me what's going on, Connor?" Hank took a swallow of a newly opened beer after growling the question. "You bail on a witness interview, then you barely speak ten words the entire fucking day. Usually I can't shut your ass up!"

Connor knew Hank's anger came from concern, that he was worried about Connor. Concern that he did not deserve. "It's nothing, _Lieutenant_. I'm simply having a-a bad day." Since their relationship had changed, Connor had taken care to only use Hank's given name at home. Calling him by his rank now was deliberate, and painfully effective. It was faint, only the sharply observed would have seen it, but Hank flinched at the use of his title. "Surely that's allowed?" Connor's eyes flicked meaningfully at the beer in Hank's hand, then back up at suddenly hard blue eyes.

Concern turned to pain and anger and Hank growled. Then he took a steady breath and reached to set his beer on the counter with a sharp sound in the quiet room. "You don't wanna talk to me, fine. I'm going to bed."

The feeble hope that Connor had that Hank would _only_ go to bed was quashed when he reached up into the cabinet and withdrew the half empty bottle of scotch. When he did, his revolver glinted dully in the overhead light.

Another memory welled up, more powerful than the others. Hank on the floor, unconscious. Whiskey and a gun beside him. A single bullet, ready to fire. Confessions of russian roulette, a wish for death. What had been vague disappointment and annoyance at the time suddenly became bone chilling horror as he recalled it

Hank was passing Connor, face dark, bottle in hand when Connor reached out, grabbing his arm. "I'm sorry." He hoped he said it quickly enough.

Hank stopped, at least. He didn't speak or look at Connor but he was apparently giving him a chance and Connor could not be more grateful.

"The-the android at the witnesses house. I-She-It was-" The words tripped over each other and he forced himself to stop. He almost restarted with dates and facts, but that wasn't what this was about. "I killed her friend. She and another deviant worked in the same household. She was terrified of me, Hank." His voice wobbled and his throat felt thick around the quietly spoken words.

"Fuck." Hank's voice was barely a whisper. "That's what's been going around in your head all day?" He turned to face Connor, still holding the bottle but no longer looking intent on finding solace at the bottom of it.

"That and-and the rest of it. Ev-verything I've done, all the harm, all the-the people I've killed, hurt." The emotional pain of laying himself out like this was weirdly soothing, and he began to understand the human contradiction of needlessly poking an open wound.

"Connor. Fuck," Hank turned long enough to set the bottle aside before stepping closer.

When Hank hugged him this time, Connor clung to him like a sinking ship, letting himself press into the embrace even as he began to cry again. Part of him hated himself for it, hated that he was accepting comfort, but he pushed that part aside and pressed his face into Hank's neck. He tried to drown himself in Hank's smell, stronger than usual after their long hours.

He didn't realize how tightly he was holding on until Hank actually wheezed, then he let go instantly. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not trusting his actual voice right now. "I'm sorry." Wanting to scan Hank, he tried to draw back, but warm arms held him fast.

"'M fine, Con," Hank murmured, his voice sounding as tight as Connor's own. "Didn't hurt anything, just had to breathe."

Connor nodded, letting his arms tighten again, but not nearly as much as before. Resting his head on Hank's shoulder, he suddenly wished he'd been built smaller. His chin rested easily on Hank's shoulder, but he wanted to bury himself, to press his face into that soft, warm chest or even his belly and just utterly **drown** in him. Instead he contented himself with just pressing into Hank's shoulder and neck, savoring the scrape of beard against his skin, the scent of him filling Connor's head.

A few minutes later, Connor got something akin to his wish. Hank was laid out on the couch with Connor draped over him, head level with his chest, listening to Hank's heart beat steadily. turning his head, he could nuzzle into his chest, whole face pressed into Hank's softness.

Hank was speaking slow and quietly about his son. Offering up his own pain to perhaps ease the way for Connor to voice his. He described the accident, where they'd been going, what they'd been talking about. The crashing horror of the other car. Connor was kind enough not to look up when he heard the tears in his voice. All he did was burrow down a bit more, squeezing his arm around Hank.

Connor offered up Daniel in return. The cold efficiency, how the little girl was nothing more than a mission, an asset to be saved. How sometimes he found it almost impossible to be in the same room as Simon because he had the same face, the same voice, the broken 'you lied to me' as he began to fall.

Hank had always liked a drink, but he'd never been a drunk. Not until after Cole was gone. He'd held it together until after the funeral, standing beside Kelly, watching the too-fucking-small coffin being lowered. Tossing a daisy - his favorite - instead of a handful of dirt. Then he'd dropped Kelly at the airport and driven straight to the nearest bar, crawled into a bottle and, he admitted with a whisper, still hasn't entirely crawled out.

Connor wiggled up just a little, so his forehead could rub against the bottom of hank's chin, nuzzling him and offering what meager comfort he could. Connor spoke of the other cases. Becca. Anthony. Blue. Others with no names given or taken later. What had been almost smug satisfaction at the time had become shame and horror later. He admitted to the guilt he felt now, how he hated himself for the pain he'd caused.

It hadn't been clear at first why Cole had died. The ambulance, the nurses holding him back from the OR, they assured him it was routine, that he would probably be fine, however bad it looked now. Except it wasn't fine. None of them could know that the surgeon on call was blasted out of his mind on Red Ice, and the android assistant was alone, unequipped to deal with the dozens of little problems that crop up in every surgery, no matter how routine. Hank admitted that part of the reason he'd blamed the android was because blaming the surgeon felt like failure on his own part. A good chunk of his career progress was owed to the Red Ice Task Force. If he blamed the surgeon, the drug, then it meant he'd failed and his career was a lie.

Shakily, in fits and starts, Connor told Hank, at last, about his attack. His beating at the hands of deviants who hated him and had every reason to do so. How he'd been unable to walk, or even crawl, how feeling actual pain was a very, very different thing to damage aversion protocols. One could be ignored or overridden. Pain could only be endured. Hank learned his moment of fear when he realized the aid sent by Markus had the same face as Daniel and Simon.

When Connor finally ran out of words, he let himself lay there, feeling uncomfortably hollow, but also strangely cleansed. Hank's hand moved slowly up and down his back, side, and arm as it had been doing the entire time. All night, in fact, Connor realized when he saw how bright the room was. Turning his hearing up, he could hear birds outside.

Hank must have realized the same, shifting under Connor, moving more than he had all night as he drew his arms up and stretched. For the first time, Connor watched in fascination how, at some point during his stretch, Hank's leg began to shake, very akin to Sumo when his belly was rubbed just so. The sudden mirthful thought felt out of place after the weight of the night and he pressed his face to Hank's chest in an effort to stifle it, shoulders trembling faintly regardless.

"Alright, what're you laughing about?" Hank's voice was raspy and rough, but light, and devoid of most of the tension he usually carried. Whether it was the lack of sleep, or the night long conversation, Connor liked the softness his voice carried right now.

After a brief internal debate, Connor sat up a little, just enough to gaze down at Hank's face, drinking in the tired gentleness for a moment. "When you stretched, you reminded me of Sumo when I rub his tummy just right."

Hank gave a rasping laugh at that, then drew his fingers through Connor's hair. "How does it look exactly the same?" He asked quietly. He caught a bit in his fingers, drawing it out and watching it spring back into place, almost mesmerized by it.

The gentle pressure to his scalp had Connor tingling slightly and he smiled. "Programmed. In theory I can change it, I just … haven't really had the time." He pushed up enough to free one arm, returning the soft caress, feeling Hank's thick grey strands against his fingers. "Do you want me to?" He asked.

Hank's eyes grew heavy lidded as Connor kept gently stroking through his hair. they opened at his question. "Up to you. I wouldn't object to being able to muss it up a little. We shouldn't be able to spend all night like this and you still look neat as a pin."

"I'll see what I can do." Connor smiled faintly. The hand in Hank's hair moved down to rest on his cheek. Moving slowly, searching for some sign that it was unwelcome, he brushed his lips against Hank's.

It was far from their first kiss, but Connor thought maybe it was one of their most important. Gentle, sweet, but lingering. It tasted like muted grief and honesty, remembered pain and forgiveness.

When they parted, Hank gazed up at him, blue eyes searching brown. "Which one?" he asked, hand cupping Connor's face, thumb stroking his cheek just below his left eye.

"That one." Closing his eyes, he turned his head and nuzzled into Hank's hand, savoring the callused skin against his. His internal alarm alerted him to the time, which he'd shut off at some point during the night. "I'm calling us in," he murmured, the words muffled against Hank's palm.

"Nah, we-we should go in, wouldn't be my first shift after an all nighter." Even as he spoke, exhaustion made sounds fall out of Hank's voice, leaving whispers in their stead.

"It's already done." Connor's smile was a little wicked and a lot loving. Reluctantly, he pushed himself to his feet. "I'll feed Sumo," He wanted to give Hank a chance to go to bed without it being any more awkward. Putting actions to words, he topped up Sumo's water, making a note to wash both bowls later as he topped up his dry food as well. then he set about putting the whiskey bottle away and pouring out the beer. Only when he turned to toss the latter into the recycling, did he see Hank lingering at the end of the hall.

"You coming?" Hank looked remarkably vulnerable making the offer, shy even.

Not for the first time in the last few hours, Connor blinked away tears. "Yeah." He nodded, shoulders drooping with vanished tension.  Yeah."

The air was heavy with fatigue and a few things still unspoken, but Connor felt lighter than he had in some time as they undressed. By mutual accord, they looked away, and each stayed in their underwear.

Hank sprawled on the bed for a moment with a loud groan and Connor thought for a moment he'd fallen asleep.  Then he shifted, moving to lay on his side before patting the bed in front of him.

Wordlessly, Connor crawled onto the bed with him, his first time doing so, and scooted closer.  There was some slight jockeying and Connor was very glad Hank at least had some idea of where everything was meant to go.  Soon he was pressed chest to chest with Hank, their legs carefully entwined, that delicious softness pressed against his whole torso.  Hank's arm was under his head, with another draped easily over his waist. Connor's arms were similarly positioned, one under Hank, the other wrapped around his chest.

Once they settled, Hank fell asleep within moments, snoring softly in Connor's ear.

Connor pressed his face to Hank's chest and absolutely did not go into shutdown mode.

+++++

After sleeping off their emotional hangover, Connor left stasis to find warm blue eyes gazing down at him and felt a faint flush.  He wasn't used to being the one still 'asleep' while Hank was awake.

"Seen you asleep a few times, never got to really pay attention before." Hank's voice was still sleep rough and he was propped up on one elbow, Connor on his back.

"I imagine it's deeply uninteresting," Connor demurred.  "We don't move when we're in stasis the way humans do."

"No, you don't.  But I think you dream sometimes." A broad tipped finger stroked lightly over Connor's LED.  "Flashes sometimes. It's usually dark when you're, uhm, asleep or whatever, but at one point earlier it was flickering yellow when I was coming back from the bathroom."

Lips pursed slightly, Connor thought about that, then looked over his logs and actually blushed faintly blue when he found the answer.  "I wasn't dreaming, but my systems registered something was wrong. It stopped when you got back into bed?"

"Yeah, it did now that you mention it," Hank chuckled softly.  "So your system decided that you sleeping alone was a bad thing?"

Connod gave a soft chuckle.  "Apparently it did, last night." He shifted onto his side in a rough approximation of how they had slept,  his hand moving to rest on Hank's side. "Possibly just because I have alerts every time my stasis environment changes.  But I know that I very much enjoyed laying with you. I didn't enter stasis right away, which is possibly why I, ah, overslept."

"Well, we've got the whole afternoon off, thanks to a cheeky android." Hank sounded warmly cheery but Connor thought saw a faint hint of apprehension, though it quickly faded.  "What do you wanna do?"

"I believe the last time we had this many waking hours to ourselves, we went shopping.  I have no need of further clothes, but perhaps ... a walk? We could take Sumo out, let him play in the snow."

Hank's smile turned from warm to mischievous.  "That actually brings up something I've been meaning to ask you.  You've never played in the snow, have you?"

In the end, they spent most of the afternoon outside.  Sumo frolicked eagerly in the snow for which he was bred.  Connor very quickly mastered the art of **making** snowballs, but throwing them with his usual accuracy took a bit more practice.  Especially when certain police Lieutenants took advantage of the fact his proximity didn't trigger Connor's alarms to drop snow down the back of his shirt.

They eventually ran into a half a dozen teenagers who were playing hooky, availing themselves of the clear day and abundant snow.   A large snowman was constructed, large enough that the only way to mount and decorate the head was with one of the girls up on Connor's shoulders.  Hank had, of course, overseen construction, owing to his **vast** years of experience.  

Once the snowman was finished, battle lines were drawn.  Since gender was uneven, at six to two, and androids versus humans was just unfair, they finally split by age.  Hank and the three older teenagers against Connor and the younger ones.

By the time the kids had to go home, the winner was still unclear, since they were all relatively evenly caked in snow and Connor found it surprisingly satisfying that way.  They walked back with Sumo, taking another meandering path, with Connor making sure they stayed several blocks away from the dangerous areas. Once he might have risked himself but he was not going to risk Hank.

When they finally arrived home, they were both laden with grocery bags, since Hank insisted it was time for Connor to start learning some old family recipes.  Tonight it was potato soup. Cooking **for** hank was something Connor always enjoyed, trying to strike a balance between pleasing flavors and healthier ingredients.  

Cooking **with** hank was something else entirely.  The same warmth and satisfaction he got from doing things for him, combined with the low key excitement of being in close proximity to him made for a heady rush.   Hank was a good teacher, taking the time to explain not just what they were doing, but why. Connor could have looked everything up, and a lot of it he already knew, but he loved listening to Hank.  

When Hank casually mentioned having made this for Cole one time, part of Connor braced for the cooling of everything that usually followed.  But then it passed, and Connor realized that Cole's death weighed less heavily on him that it had even a day before. Stopping him mid word, Connor stepped close and kissed him, lightly and briefly but full of more love than he thought he could ever contain.

Connor always tasted the food as he cooked - feather light touches between finger and tongue, but tasting it from Hank's finger made something curl warm and tight inside him and he knew he'd be savoring that memory.

Finally they wound up on the couch, Hank sitting in his usual spot, belly full of rich, thick soup.  Connor lay on his back, head resting on Hank's thigh as they absently watched some movie from Hank's youth.  His large, warm hand rested on Connor's chest and Connor's hands on top of it, with Sumo weighing down Connor's legs.

The closer they got to bed time, the more nervous Connor found himself getting.  Sex was something they had both been overly careful to avoid discussing, and he didn't know how much longer that could continue.  Perhaps he was being presumptuous, but Connor expected - hoped - to be in Hank's bed again tonight.

When the time came, Connor felt a little silly for having been so worried.  They once again stripped own to t-shirts and boxers. This time Connor was facing away from Hank, that warm bulk against his back.  Quiet snores began before Connor could even begin thinking of how to bring the subject up.

Their work was just as it had been, some cases easier, some harder, but their relationship seemed steadier.  Days spent at work, evenings walking, or home. Hank was barely drinking at all these days, just a beer or two now and then.  The occasional shot after a harder day than usual. Once or twice they went out to eat but mostly preferred staying home. Connor learned a few more Anderson Family recipes, with promises not to change them. He was also returning to Jericho more frequently again.

When the calendar flipped to February, everything seemed to get colder, including, to Connor's surprise, Hank.  Perhaps colder was the wrong word, but there was a tension that hadn't been there at the start of the year. As hearts and lace began appearing on everything, his mood soured further.

An innocent, or perhaps not so innocent, question from Connor finally brought things to a head.  "Valentine's is in two days. How do you wish to celebrate it?"

"Fuck valentine's," Hank had growled, hands tight on the steering wheel.  "We don-we don't have to do anything. It can be just another fuckin' day, Connor."

Silly as it had seemed, Connor had been enjoying the idea, it was a deeply human holiday, and he had someone to celebrate it with, he had thought.  He even had a meal planned for the day, in case Hank had wanted to stay in. "Is that what you would prefer?" He tried to keep his voice neutral, calm, but apparently failed, judging by the sharp look Hank gave him.

Broad shoulders slumped and Hank sighed.  "When we get home." It was all he said for the rest of the drive.  Once inside, coats were hung, shoes came off, their usual rituals of post-work comfort all observed until they were on the couch.

"Something I've been, uhm, avoiding." Hank looked much like he had the last few times he'd had to open up to Connor.  Leaning forward, hands on his knees, face pointed away. "I know you keep a close eye on my heart and cholesterol and my drinking and all that shit, but there's.  I mean, I don't even know if-" he sat back, scrubbing a hand over his face and swore into his palm. "I care about you, Connor. A fuck of a lot. And I love everything we do.  But I can't-there isn't-" He looked away, face red as he took a deep breath. "I can't offer any **more** than what we've been doing.  I-it doesn't-there's-I don't-"

Feeling relief course through every atom of his being, Connor almost wept as he realized what Hank was saying.  He stopped his attempts with a hand to his leg. "I think you deserve to know why I've been ... letting you avoid the topic," Connor said quietly, waiting for him to look at him.  "I know some androids enjoy it, crave it the way humans do, even ones manufactured without the equipment. Whether it's an effect of being a prototype, or my programming or just personal preference, I have no need or no particular desire for sexual intercourse."

It was almost comical the way Hank's body relaxed, sagging into the couch like he was melting.  "It isn't that ... Ten years ago I absolutely would be up for it, literally and metaphorically." Now that the worst was out, it seemed to be easier for Hank.  Connor shifted, curling up against his side as he continued. "But when Cole was born, I was already mid-forties, and a newly minted Police Lieutenant, and essentially a single father.  There wasn't **time** to do much more than the occasional morning jerk in the shower.  Then after he was gone, and the drinking ... I haven't, uhm," He gestured at his lap.  "Not more than half a dozen times, anyway. I get tingles, the occasional half hearted twitch, or morning wood, but nothing else."

Connor just nodded, letting Hank know he was still listening even as he felt the last little scrap of tension between them drain away.

"And I'll be honest, if laying on the couch with you half draped over me, kissing, you making those hot little noises like you do-"

A blush crept up Connor's face and he nuzzled Hank's shoulder shyly.  He thought he'd been quieter than that.

"If **that** doesn't get little Hank interested, I'm pretty sure it's a lost cause."

Connor thought for a moment, and despite his own earlier assertions, he found himself sitting up, gazing at Hank.  "There are a number of medical solutions-"

"No." Hank's voice was firm but gentle.  "No, I actually really like what we have.  We do what feels nice, and there's no ... pressure to perform, no having to pretend you don't notice the hints because you aren't in the mood, no going to bed needy because **they're** not in the mood and you're not an asshole, none of that.  And while I will admit to the occasional dream of laying you out and making you **moan,** I also dream of sprouting wings and flying, so ... dreams are just dreams.  Not all of them are meant to come true."

Hank had briefly skirted something and Connor found he wanted to revisit it.  He sat up more, easing off the couch. Something he'd been inclined to do because of how he imagined it would feel, but had avoided because of not wanting to bring up the idea of sex, Connor now felt might be safe.  Hank watched him curiously, then smiled a little when he realized what Connor was up to.

Straddling him, he settled on Hank's thighs, which widened just a bit to give him a better seat.  Soft belly, broad chest, everything was as perfect against his own torso as he hoped when he leaned down to kiss him, slow and sweet.  "I love you," he whispered when he ended the kiss, sitting up on Hank's lap, hands on his shoulders.

"I love you too, Connor," Hank murmured and drew him down for another kiss.

They stayed home for Valentine's day.

+++++

Three Years Later

They weren't the first, but they had never really intended to be.  Still, once the law was finally passed, they'd been _among_ the first at City Hall applying for their license.

Hank had little in the way of family to invite, but Fowler stood up with him as best man - again.  

Connor's best man was Simon.  They'd gotten close, once Connor sat down and explained to him and Markus what the problem actually was.  They'd understood, and what had begun as very carefully measured conversations had grown into a real and deep friendship.

The only reason it wasn't Markus was because the android leader as officiating.

One of the biggest questions had been who, if anyone, walked down the aisle.  It hadn't mattered to Connor, really, he was just incredibly glad to make things official.

Hank, however, had some fairly strong opinions on the subject.  Knowing the history of bride-as-possession and Connor's unavoidable origins, he'd put his foot down on Connor walking down the aisle for any reason, even arm in arm with Hank.  "Besides," he finally said. "I was the one waiting last time I did this and look how that went. I'm not wearing a fuckin' dress, though!"

They had wanted a small service, but both were aware of how important it was.  Even if they weren't the first, Connor's high status among the androids, and Hank's rank as a police lieutenant both ensured it would draw a good deal of publicity.  

A large ceremony at a church in Jericho, with Markus officiating.  It wouldn't be the first time either of them were in the paper, but it was certainly the best reason in a long time.

Connor's side was packed with androids and a surprising number of humans who'd come to know him over the years.

Hank's side was almost the reverse, predominantly human, most of them police, with a few androids.  Including North of all people. She'd claimed that it was because there wasn't enough seating on Connor's side, but she'd also been warming up to Hank since he'd first visited Jericho with Connor years ago.

Connor stood at the front, thirium pump pounding under his bespoke suit.  His eyes lit on a small table nearby, Cole's framed face smiling. He had to blink and wipe away tears.  A comforting squeeze to his elbow and he drew in a breath, nodding his thanks at Simon.

Sumo, slow with age, muzzle going white, was escorted by an upgraded Alice.  The little girl, with support from Luther and Kara, had carefully transferred to an older body, an important step towards adulthood.  Sumo had a pillow on his back and two rings sat on the plush surface.

Sumo and Alice sat, pillow in her lap and she gave Connor a thumbs up.  

Everything quieted and the wedding march began.  Connor turned, chest tight as he watched Hank stride towards him.  He would always be a big man, and always soft in the middle, but over the last few years he'd lost a good portion of his gut and, according to his doctors, looked easily on track to hit the hundred year mark.  The suit he wore, bespoke as well, was dark, with traces of blue that brought out his eyes. His hair was longer than ever and tied back like it always was. Connor liked that Hank's silver hair flowing down over his shoulders was something only he ever got to see.

Finally they stood side by side, eternally smooth hands tucked into large, rough ones as Markus united them with firmly spoken words, vows carefully written to remove any hint of ownership - the word obedience was nowhere to be found.  

Vows were repeated, and rings exchanged.   Connor's had belonged to Hank's grandfather, the careworn gold band had been polished, but the tiny knicks and scratches accumulated over a lifetime had been carefully preserved.  Hank's was a calm blue light edged with narrow bands of gold on either side. As Connor slid it onto Hank's finger it flashed yellow in time with his LED. They had decided since they themselves had vastly different origins, there was no reason other than tradition that their rings had to match.

Markus pronounced them married and Connor all but melted into Hank's arms as they sealed it with a kiss.  A long, leisurely one that resulted in Simon and Markus both pinging Connor after a moment. He drew back slowly, sending them each a digital finger even as he thanked them for now allowing them to get **really** distracted.

Walking back up the aisle hand in hand, Connor worried for a moment that he would float away.  But a strong, firm hold attached to a solid warm body kept him well and truly grounded, which is exactly where he wanted to be.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If I've missed out on any important tags or if there's a huge glaring error somewhere please let me know!


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